Up through the water came a large trout; a flash of silver; a dart of light; the fulfillment of a small boy’s dream.
I hear in the chamber above me
The patter of little feet,
The sound of a door that is opened,
And voices soft and sweet.
Ye are better than all the ballads
That ever were sung or said;
For ye are living poems,
And all the rest are dead.
Between the dark and the daylight,
When the night is beginning to lower,
Comes a pause in the day’s occupation,
That is known as the Children’s Hour.
That great Cathedral space which was childhood.
When grown people speak of the innocence of children, they don’t really know what they mean. Pressed, they will go a step further and say, Well, ignorance then. The child is neither. There is no crime which a boy of eleven had not envisaged long ago. His only innocence is, he may not be old enough to desire the fruits of it, which is not innocence but appetite; his ignorance is, he does not know how to commit it, which is not ignorance but size.
There is an expiry date on blaming your parents for steering you in the wrong direction; the moment you are old enough to take the wheel, responsibility lies with you.
Bob: You guys are just our kids now, not our employees.
Gene: Is that all we are to you, Dad? Your children?
Bob: Yes, and I want you to go have fun.
Carl: Let’s play “Who Can Be Quiet The Longest.”
Russell: Cool! My mom loves that game!
Andrew: I think adults are just children who owe money.
Ralphie: Oh no, it was the classic mother BB gun block! Heh, heh. “You’ll shoot your eye out!” That deadly phrase uttered many times before by hundreds of mothers was not surmountable by any means known to kiddom.
When I was one I’d just begun,
When I was two I was nearly new,
When I was three I was hardly me,
When I was four I was not much more,
When I was five I was barely alive,
But now I am six! As clever as clever!
And I think I’ll stay six now for ever and ever!
Grown-ups never understand anything by themselves, and it is tiresome for children to be always and forever explaining things to them.
I continued to do arithmetic with my father, passing proudly through fractions to decimals. I eventually arrived at the point where so many cows ate so much grass, and tanks filled with water in so many hours I found it quite enthralling.
the schoolyard was a horror show: the bullies, the dragons, the
The task of writing an autobiography is a difficult one. When I try to classify my earliest impressions, I find that fact and fancy look alike across the years that link the past with the present. The woman paints the child’s experiences in her own fantasy. A few impressions stand out vividly from the first years of my life; but “the shadows of the prison-house are on the rest.”